


Truce?

by idgit_with_a_fidget



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Avengers Tower, Bruce Banner Feels, M/M, tensions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 18:06:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idgit_with_a_fidget/pseuds/idgit_with_a_fidget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce isn't exactly confident around Tony yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truce?

Tossing the sheets that were coiled around his torso onto a heap on the carpet, Tony swung his legs out of his bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, smacking his lips to rid them of stale saliva. He rubbed his bleary eyes and squinted, just about able to read the time on the alarm clock by his bedside. The luminous electric blue numbers showed near three in the morning, their colour penetrating the dark shadows.

JARVIS kicked into gear, finally turning on the lights and adjusting the room temperature to match the conditions of Tony’s body temperature.

“A bit slow on the mark, JARVIS,” Tony remarked with a yawn he didn’t bother to muffle with his hand.

He glanced over his shoulder. The double bed was lonely yet cosy without Pepper, what with her being in…where was it?...DC? He was now free to wriggle. More duvet, too.

“Sorry, sir,” JARVIS replied, tone unapologetic. “I was in the middle of a nice dream. My system needs time to reboot.”

“You were designed by me; you’re not the standard home block. You don’t need time to ‘buffer’, and I don’t like a lazybones. I could easily make you into a clever toaster.” Tony gathered a shirt from the foot of the bed, smoothed it out the best he could to erase the crinkles and creases. It was a faded band T-shirt: Black Sabbath. He hummed the first few bars of _Paranoid_ , tapping the intricate device in his chest fondly as he tugged the cloth over his shoulders and stomach. The bulbs of the reactor flowed through the shirt. 

“What, then, is your definition of your physical state on Sundays?” JARVIS retorted.

“Not in the mood. Hungry.”

He grabbed his iPod from the bedside table, contemplated what JARVIS would be like as a toaster, selected another classic rock playlist and plugged in. 

Making his way through the maze that was Stark Tower with JARVIS activating the hall lights every time he took a step, Tony nodded his head in time to the croons and purrs and pounds of music in his ears that crept into his skull and shook his brain like an enthusiastic child with a snowglobe. 

The Tower was quiet and still, and little streaks of colour flashed past the windows on the streets below. The black sky was clear and crisp on the view was wonderful: the perfect vantage point. There was something about being up high in the clouds that emitted a sense of great power and guard. 

Tony hopped into the kitchen, swaying, completely engrossed in the bass-guitar strums. He yanked the fridge door open and grabbed the remains of last night’s chicken from a turquoise Tupperware tub at the back and a carton of a nearly finished orange juice from the side door. He nonchalantly threw the food and drink containers onto a worktop and fetched a glass, drumming on the cupboard doors as he hunted.

Just as he was unscrewing the lid of the juice and popping the lid of the air-tight container, he heard something that wasn’t music. Wary and curious he plucked the buds from his ears and tilted his head. The earphones dangled aimlessly. 

“JARVIS…” Tony began.

“Running a security check, sir,” JARVIS quickly responded.

“Sounded like…” Tony bit his lip and listened again.

The noise shook the room: deep, angry and so, so _loud_. A cacophonous vibration that was like a lion’s roar only amplified seven-hundred percent. Tony felt it reverberate his ribs like a well-struck drum.

“Cameras show Doctor Banner is experiencing…issues, again, sir,” JARVIS reported, displaying the footage for the billionaire to study. “He was sensible enough to retreat to that room you designed for him. I am surprised it holds him. His levels are very strong; this isn’t just your average poke with a pen.”

“You should learn not to doubt me. We’ve been through enough to know that my plans always work at least second time round.”

JARVIS could’ve sighed. “Second time may not be possible if Doctor banner breaks free at this stage of his mutation. He may destroy everything. Including the others in this tower. And I do not think Miss Pepper would be too pleased to return from her trip to rubble.”

“Mm, she’s never liked tidying…” Tony mused, then made a blubbery noise with his lips. “Fine, I’ll go and calm down Shrek.”

He took the chicken for good measure.

*  
**  
*

“I’ve said it before, but I’m saying it again. Rage monster thing? Big fan,” Tony chewed a morsel of chicken. It was rather tasteless.

He leaned against the main control console by the secured room door. It was large and circular, and was built to withstand anything from the shattering of a mug thrown in anger to a mug thrown in anger by Banner’s alter-ego.

Banner was curled up in the middle of the room, skin exposed, bare and as white as a frog’s belly. He was hugging his knees, drawing them right up to his chin in an attempt to keep his dignity, and he had his nose pressed to the caps. Veins stood out in his arms and throbbed violently, almost refusing to be tamed like a persistent bulldog. His toes were clenched with the strain and effort. His shoulders were quivering. His dark hair was ruffled and unkempt. He was breathing slowly and forcefully. In and out. One and two. He didn’t look up. Focus.

“You know what I’ve always wondered,” Tony continued, tasting another piece of chicken, “Is…do you just always wear purple underwear? I mean, when you go all Pissed Shrek on us you’re wearing those things, like, always so…do you have more than one pair? I’m not judging or anything if you don’t. Just…putting that out there, bro.”

Bruce laughed sadly, his voice croaky, and lifted his face, watching Tony through the glass. His cheeks were smudged with a yellowish-violet. He hadn’t slept well. 

“You make jokes…in an attempt to comfort me?” he asked, tightening his grip on his knees. His voice had a muted tinny quality to it when listened through the glass, like the sound perceived through a perforated ear drum. “I don’t deserve such niceness.”

“Would you stop it with the pity parade? You’re not campaigning for donations. This isn’t a telethon.”

Bruce said nothing, only smiled half-heartedly and coughed. 

Tony traced buttons on the controller. “We’re alike, you an’ me. Except I have better taste in music and-”

“And I have the habit of destroying entire cities when I get a bit tetchy,” Bruce concluded with sarcastic helpfulness. 

“I was going to say ‘and I tend to keep my clothes on when I get miffed,’” Tony corrected tentatively. A conversation with Bruce was like treading in a minefield; the obvious subject was not easily avoidable. 

Bruce shrugged and waved his hand in the direction of a torn rag. “There’s a sheet in here; put it there a couple days ago in case…pants would’ve been a better idea.”

“Why don’t you put it on?”

“Because that would involve standing up,” Bruce answered with a steady eye. 

Tony turned his back respectfully. “Hey, I’ve seen it all. You didn’t think all my fans were chicks, did you?”

There was a scuffling sound followed by: “Alright.”

Bruce was now sitting again, the remains of the rag bundled in his lap. He tried a smile. It didn’t work. His eyes were weak and, for a moment, he wished he had his glasses. He resembled a puppy at the pound begging: ‘pick me! Pick me!’ with their eyes.

“So,” another nibble at the chicken. “Can you control it now?”

“I don’t like being in here, could you let me out please?”

“Yeah, yeah, in a sec,” Tony knitted his brow. “So, you can?”

“Sort of,” Bruce toyed with the sheet. It was strangely fascinating how such a mild-mannered man could become such a terrifying creature. “I was experimenting again, to see if I really could just turn it on and off like a tap. I’m always angry…”

“Everyone’s always angry,” Tony butted in. “Just, not like you, obviously.”

“No…obviously.”

There was a long pause. Tony wondered whether or not he should apologise. It was one of those moments he wasn’t too sure.

“You know,” he ventured. “If you need something to punch, I was gonna re-calibrate my suit for-”

Bruce clasped his hands together, cutting Tony’s dialogue. 

“Could you let me out now, please?” he asked again, sterner than previously. 

Tony swallowed the last of the chicken. “Promise you won’t br-”

“Mister Stark,” Bruce said. “I asked you please.”

Sealing the Tupperware tub once more and gulping down the rest of the juice, Tony nodded. Perhaps now wasn’t the time for snappy comebacks.

“JARVIS, unlock the pod. And get this man some pants too, while you’re at it. Don’t want the sheet to slip.”


End file.
